Make Your Own Kind of Music
by tfm
Summary: Emily sits, straight-backed on the piano stool, not really sure why she’d agreed to do this. Then, his fingers curl over the top of hers, and she remembers. Reid/Prentiss, smut.


**Title: **Make Your Own Kind of Music**  
Rating: **NC-17**  
Fandom: **Criminal Minds  
**Universe: **Hands On (Part 2)**  
Characters/Pairing: **Reid/Prentiss  
**Genre: ** Romance/Drama**  
Summary: **She sits, straight-backed (because old habits die hard) on the piano stool, not really sure why she'd agreed to do this. Then, his fingers curl over the top of hers, and she remembers.

**  
**Make Your Own Kind of Music

Emily sits, straight-backed (because old habits die hard) on the piano stool, not really sure why she'd agreed to do this. Then, his fingers curl over the top of hers, and she remembers.

'For optimal performance, piano players use the Palmar and the Dorsal Interossei muscles – this ensures you can flex your fingers without stiffening your wrists.' His voice is soft, serene. Usually when he quotes facts or statistics, he sounds almost like an overexcited child who's learnt something new for the first time. In a way, she's grateful, because she doesn't need reminding that she's almost twelve years older than him, but at the same time, she finds his traditional recitations incredibly endearing.

Fingers moving in tandem with his, she completes the C scale. Even as her thumb tucks under her middle finger, he doesn't pull his hand away. It's markedly different from her childhood lessons. There's far less pressure, and she's pretty sure that she'd never had a childhood lesson in nothing but her underwear. In any case, it's not so much a lesson as it is an excuse to see his hands in action, even if it means letting him guide her across the ebony and ivory keys.

'Music represents both a classic and romantic method,' he breathes into her ear, and just the sound of his voice is an aphrodisiac, before she even stops to consider what he's saying. 'We reduce it to the sum of its parts to learn, but once the science is understood, it becomes an art.'

'I didn't realize you knew so much about motorcycle maintenance,' she replies, twisting her head to meet his lips as he leans down.

'I'm a very fast learner,' he says, as their lips draw apart, only to crash back together. 'I know all about a lot of things.'

'I think you should give me a demonstration,' Emily suggests, turning on the stool.

'I think that's a very good idea.' His limbs are long and awkward, but their movements seem oddly graceful, and he manages to wrap his legs around her and keep them both firmly seated on the stool.

He shows an impressive feat of presdigitation by letting the back clasp of her bra fall free with the slightest touch of his fingers. Her shoulders arch back as he pushes the straps down, his fingers trailing over to cup her right breast. It seems to fit in his hand just right, nipple hardening against the flat of his palm. She pushes herself into him, the hardness of his cock rubbing against her thigh through his boxers.

'Do you want to move?' he asks, and she shakes her head. It might be uncomfortable, but it's also inexplicably hot, the thought of him railing her as she's flush against the piano, fingers crushing out a mishmash of notes as he brings her to orgasm.

'Take me right here,' she breathes, adjusting the position of the stool just slightly, because as fun as it might be, falling backwards and hitting her head has the chance of turning fun, sexy times into fun, ambulancy times, and the emergency room definitely isn't on her list of "number one places to be."

His kisses are hard, urgent, in a way that makes it hard to breathe, but at the same time, stopping isn't on the agenda. If breathing's hard for her, it's probably harder for him, because he takes the space between each kiss, and fills it with non-sequitur facts, quotes and statistics. On some level, she thinks his trying to compensate for a perceived lack of sexual skill by filling the gap with something he is good at. She doesn't complain, or correct him though, because in a way, it is part of his sexual repertoire, considering how wet she's getting right now. She's never really considered Einstein some kind of turn on, but Einstein as interpreted by Spencer Reid?

Mind-shattering.

She whimpers against his lips as his hand moves from her chest, body tightening as she realizes just where those fingers are headed. Craving pressure, she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him closer, trapping his hand between them as it rubs against her swollen clit. Her breasts press against his chest, and there's almost no space between them, and that's exactly the way she likes it. Two fingers slide over the wetness of her folds, pushing in softly yet forcefully at the same time. Thrusting in and out, he pulls her to the brink and then stops, withdrawing before she lets go.

She lets out a gasp, of disappointment, and of the pleasure that had almost rippled right through her. He hasn't finished though, lifting her hips in order to pull her panties down. She takes her own hand from around his neck, and pulls his throbbing cock from within its cotton confines. Thanks to Reid's endless babbling, she's now an expert on her own reproductive system; taking both the pill, and her own cycle into account, the risk of pregnancy is low, and she's not about to get up to find a condom when they're this far into it already.

His hand meets hers as she guides him inside, the touch lingering as it had when she'd let her fingers play the scale. It's the same, and yet it's so much more. After a few seconds, she lets her hand move back to his neck, holding tight as he pushes in and out to a rhythm of his own design. His fingers flick against her clit to an almost contrary beat, interspersing the two forces of pleasure.

Thanks to his foreplay, she's already hanging at the edge, so it's not long before she lets go. Her hips tighten, and there are spots in her vision and it feels like she's flying.

She's almost recovered when he comes inside of her, filling her with his warmth. His head drops down to rest against her neck, and she holds him there, silent.

'Did you learn anything from that?' he asks, and she doesn't even need to look at him to see the almost cocky smile on his face. In the post-coital aftermath, he always seems more confident, as though any shyness or inexperience has simply dropped away.

'I'm not sure I did,' she confesses. 'I'm afraid you might have to try again sometime.' He drops a kiss against her neck, hand reaching around her to play a haunting melodyin _pianissimo_.

'I guess we might need to work on your practice a little harder, then,' he says, and Emily is content to close her eyes and simply listen.


End file.
